The Bandwagon

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Since the bandwagon is there to be ridden, here's a little fan-fiction. I don't like this one very much, and I'm fairly convinced it's the worst thing I've ever written, so I don't care about constructive critisim much, just don't compare me to Hitler or anything.

Alright, here it is, in all its nonexistant glory:

Dead Space: Oracle

The jail cell was cold. I suppose it was meant to be, to intimidate prisoners into confession.

I wished there was the presence of some kind of god for me to damn in this church, but I wasn’t an idiot; I did my research before a job, which was more than I could say for Sanders and, unlike him, I knew that there were no gods in Unitology. That idiot couldn’t find credits to pay for our masks and uniforms – and he was happy enough to make me shell out for them. They were fancy, and I had plenty of contacts that could get me a good price on them once I escaped, but that wouldn’t do me any good if I was killed by the nutjobs before I could fashion a lock-pick. I at least wanted my money to be a consoling element for my son, not just the five-thousand I was left with to taunt him.

These doors were old, but sturdy. If they used a hologram lock, I’d have been screwed, but it would seem the Unitolologists wanted glass panes in their doors. What, did they want an uninterrupted view of these same dusty old corridors?

There was the groaning of a motor down the corridor. Somebody groaned in unison – Sanders, perhaps?

“Wait here for the Cleric. I will not be long.” Came a monotonous voice from the location of the door. I had heard a voice like that before, though it did not help to recognize something in this seemingly alien church – if anything, it made me nervous.

Recognize it?

Yes, recognize it. What else? Remember it?

From before.

Before didn’t happen. I have made that clear. I am no longer the man I used to be. No longer the monster I used to be.

Why was I talking to myself so much? I’ve been a bit too yappy since I found that rock.

Come to think of it, that may prove useful if anybody tries to stop me on my way out. These guys had guns, and going up against a Divet with a sharp rock was less than appealing, but…

But I’d be careful. That was all I could tell myself.

It’s worked fine so far – for me, and my son. He’s content in believing I work at CEC. He doesn’t really care in what sector I do my work, and I’ve still got at least five years to find an excuse before he starts asking questions.

“This is the one who broke in?” Somebody said. I was startled from my thoughts for a moment, before my ears pricked up and I started tuning in…

“Yes, but the other one is down the corridor. I am sorry for this one’s state. The guards were a bit rougher than I imagined they would be.”

“It is a shame the Servants are so hard to control.”

“Yes, Cleric.”

Sharp, sudden footsteps carried my ears down the corridor.

I blinked, and jumped back when my eyes opened.

Two people were standing before me. They were wearing the smocks and RIGs of doctors, their white jackets lined by the wires required to activate a kinesis device.

Why would a doctor (in a church, no less!) need to operate a kinesis module? Granted, the power at the user’s fingertips is immense, but I thought they were illegal unless being used as a miner, engineer, or under very rare circumstances as a Chief Physician, which were few and far between on the Buckler.

“Are you certain he is usable? He may be too attached to his beard…” one of them (the older one, also with a monotone voice) murmured to the other.

I rubbed my goatee and turned to them from my position in the corner. If I could just hide my lock-pick…

“What is that you have there?” the younger one asked. I had just realized that the only hair on either men’s faces were minuscule eyebrows, and was somewhat unnerved by the sudden revelation.

I turned to face them, making no attempt to hide my lock-pick. I could always make another from materials in here, of which there seemed to be slightly too many for a jail cell.

“No, not that.” The older one (the Cleric, apparently) said.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the sharp rock. It was my only weapon, but I wasn’t going to get impaled to the wall to save a pointy piece of red metal.

Both men stopped their breathing (the glass was surprisingly thin, if only I had thought to try and smash it!) and stared in aghast awe (terror?) at the rock.

The Cleric leaned back, and listened to the Young One’s suggestions. Eventually, the Cleric nodded, and leaned forward to his original straight-backed stance.

“Where did you get that?” he asked me.

“I stole it from your main room, before your robed men knocked me and my assistant unconscious.” No point in lying now.

The Cleric sighed, and said “Please come with us. We will set you free.”

It was odd that he was now going to let me free. Perhaps they’ll let me keep the rock, too. It’s good that I didn’t have to use this to kill somebody – the client wanted it “In utterly pristine condition.”

The door slid open, and I was greeted by the air that bordered on unpleasantly warm that so loved to frolic around The Buckler. A small bead of sweat burst from my forehead and made its way to my eye. I kept it closed as the Cleric and Young One led me down the corridors. As we passed, I saw no sign of Sanders, only small shadows that clung to the dusty rock walls of their cells, despite their proximity to the cell toilets. As we passed these shadows, a slight tremor passed over me. The feeling that I was being watched was unmistakable.

“Did you find my assistant?” I asked to neither one of them in particular.

“Shh!” came the sharp reply of the Cleric. A fear took over me, and I was silent. After all, these people could be absolute psychopaths for all I knew - wanting to lead me to the “Hazardous Waste Bins” that dotted the Buckler so they didn’t have to carry my body.

“Here.” The Cleric said suddenly, and he pointed to a pristine white door down an equally pristine white corridor, both of which stood out in the darkened stone walls of this church.

I looked down the corridor. There was something… surgical about it, as if it leads to great pain and only slightly less great rewards, like a dentist appointment.

Nonetheless, I continued down the corridor. Strangely, neither the Cleric nor the Young One followed me. I looked back – and neither one was there.

I almost burst through the door right then, but the motors of this door were apparently quite old – they took almost a full minute to open after pressing down on the hologram.

Then I burst through the door, and would have dived out again, had it not slammed shut, almost taking off my head.

Several corpses sat on tiled floor, their blood draining into a square drain seldom seen in the modern butcher’s room. I pulled back and vomited on the floor – this would undoubtedly haunt my memory for some time to come.

But the important question was not how much this experience would haunt me, but it was as obvious: what the fuck were a load of dead bodies doing here?!

A box fell of a desk to my left. I jumped, and, before I almost vomited again, I stared at the desk and the box, the hair on the back of my neck standing up, sweat leaking out of everywhere, my muscles tensed to run…

One of the dead bodies began to wriggle.

I darted back to the door and banged both my fists on it.

Oh god oh god oh god

I could hear flesh bursting open behind me, and the sounds of blood being sprayed on the tiled floor-

Blood, cold and thick, splashed on my back, coating the back of my head.

I turned.

Hell was revealed.

I still do not understand what I saw then, and I doubt I ever will.

Some sort of bat had pinned one of the corpses to the floor. It had extended a muscular rope-like proboscis, and had violently violated the corpse by stabbing it in the brain with it. It flapped up, and the corpse danced along with it.

I might have snapped then. As of yet, I have not been able to verify my sanity. Perhaps I am sitting in a sanatorium now, babbling on about flesh-bats and crazed Unitiologists. Nonetheless, I darted past the bodies and through an open door on the other side of the corpse-pile. The corridor that was revealed may have once been clean, but had been drenched in blood that had since congealed on the walls and floor, leaving a swarm of flies buzzing about.

Fighting through them, I burst through another door. This room was almost exactly the same as the one before, only this one had a clear plastic wall blocking where I had darted through to get here. Inside this artificial room was assorted medical equipment, as well as a table, apparently for performing operations.

I stepped forward, and the door slammed shut behind me. I was grateful – I may now be recovering from my initial shock, my terror having transformed into affirmative action, but I was still very close – closer than I should be – to tipping a desk over and cowering behind it.

Something slammed about above. Deep, hollow growls aired from above. I stared up, attempting to track the sounds to their origin point.

There was a horrible bang not unlike that of twisting metal and lamps breaking.

To my left, something growled.

I turned my head quickly, though slower than reaction alone warranted.

Jagged teeth greeted my gaze.

They clamped shut near my throat. If I had not raised my arm in defence, they would have torn my jugular free. Instead, they shut around my arm, and refused to let go.

At the moment in which I saw the rest of its head, my own reaction of abject horror could have pulled my arm free.

Time seemed to go in slow-motion, if only to torment me with the cruel details of its face.

The flesh was blackened, as if burned. From within its scarred skull, two glowing yellow eyes stared at me. My eyes were, fortunately, blocked by this glow from seeing the eyes behind.

At that moment, time began its usual course, and two jagged blades rose from the back of this… demon that gripped my arm. One came down, narrowly missing my nose. I was not strong, but my son’s face daring me to survive this gave me the strength to do what I did next.

I gripped the creature’s skull, and began to crush. The bone gave way easier than it should have, and before long I was squishing little more than dry grey-matter into a pulp. Its skull sufficiently collapsed, I began to pull the stem from the root in the spine. Again, this gave way easier than I had expected, and I fell to the floor, the skull (and its contents) in my hand. Still, it bit down my arm, and I pulled a chunk of flesh free pulling it off. Looking into the wound, I should have been disgusted – I could almost see the bone –but my adrenaline was in full flow by now, and my animal instincts would win over this… thing.

It still stood, swinging its blades about, trying to hit me. Its ears, eyes, smell, and taste disabled, it now relied on touch and random striking to find me.

I fumbled about on the floor, hoping to find something before it found me. I cut my hand on something, and was overjoyed to see a part of the vent it must have burst from had been broken into a sharpened dagger of sorts.

Picking it up, and readied myself. Getting up, I prepared to tackle it. However, there was no need – it sprinted at me, and I was on the ground before I knew what was going on.

I still held the dagger in my hand, and gripped it tightly, despite the blood it was drawing from my fingers.

Breathing deep, I plunged it into the creature’s spine. Old blood gushed onto my jacket, but I burrowed deeper into the bones until only a small sliver of metal poked out. It was slowed greatly, but it still thrashed about on top of me.

If I didn’t do anything soon, it would disembowel me. I reached around but found nothing. It pushed me to the side, and I was poked by an unpleasant lump in my pocket.

Yes! The shard! If I could just hook my arm around… Yes!

I pulled the rock free and, just as I prepared to stab once again, a high-pitched whine came from the beast, and it stopped moving. I held the stone closer to its flesh, and, before my eyes, it burned parts of it away.

The rock became hot to hold. Pocketing it, I stood up. The battle was won – but I was badly wounded, and my adrenaline would not last much longer.

“You! Get one the bed! I can help you!” Somebody yelled.

I looked around, startled.

“I’m down here!” The voice said. It came from the RIG of the monster I had just killed.

So… it was human?

“Get on the surgical bed! They’re coming for you, but I can arm you!”

A loud banging began on the walls – not that of more creatures breaking through, but that of people hitting the walls on the other side trying to get in.

“They’re coming! You need to get on the bed, now!”

I dived for the bed, and lay down upon it.

Welcome, Oracle. We shall update you systems and repair your wounds.

“What the fu-“was all I managed to say before I blacked out.

…

…

…

When I awoke, the glass door was sealed. Cleric and Young One had somebody working on the door, trying to get it open.

I felt angry.

Very angry.

I looked at my arm. A kinesis module had been placed on it.

No, not on it, inside it.

The door blasted open. Cleric and Young one were flung to the ground, and the person working on the door was outright incinerated.

Cleric’s head flew up into the air as Young One crawled backwards towards the door.

LOCKED

Young One also flew up into the air, and he was drawn towards me. Young One yelled out prayers in Markerspeak as I did so, and his fear was obvious.

“Who are you people!? What’s happened to me!?” I yelled. Young One kept on with his prayers, only noticing me enough to be terrified.

“What has happened to me!?” I repeated.

My grip tightened. He stopped his prayers, and screamed in pain. He writhed around, even as I levitated him.

“P-please! Stop!” He screamed.

“What happened to me?” I asked.

He shook his head, and was clearly scared to do so.

My grip got yet tighter on his insides, until he could barely avoid screaming out loud enough to deafen me.

“What happened to me?” I asked yet again.

“You! You were part of the program! This is all set up! The job, the transformation… the…” He screamed out again. I loosened my grip. “The infection!”

He went limp in my grip. I let him flop to the ground.

Infection?

I looked at the door. Just as soon as I thought of it, I tore the door from its motors, and continued down the corridor.

…

…

…

I stepped outside.

Flames smouldered on wrecked cars. The sprinklers had done their work here.